


i'll never let our love get so close

by secretly_a_savior



Series: the author and the exile [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Bisexual Alexander Hamilton, Cheating, Cold Weather, Drunkenness, M/M, Reunions, i'm such trash for this ship kill me, kind of cheating?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-26 19:01:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6251782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secretly_a_savior/pseuds/secretly_a_savior
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was surprised and halfway grateful to his friend that he’d actually slept. The bright sun was the first observation he made in the morning- and the net was how wonderfully familiar his sheets now smelled wrapped around him. Both things that signified, if only for a while, that things might become better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'll never let our love get so close

**Author's Note:**

> you'd never seen a bastard orphan more in need of a plot ripped directly from a christina perri song
> 
> if you like this i'm begging u to comment b/c literally i want to expand on this weird lil' universe SO VERY BADLY but... supply and demand folk's i'm takin' nine classes this semester 
> 
> in the context of history/the show i have no fucking clue where this sits

                It was dark. The darkness was just one of the observation that Alexander Hamilton had made in the past hour. It was fairly early, but winter was settling in early this year, so the sun began hiding behind clouds mid-day, making the transition from daylight to dusk softer, but as it seemed, quicker. It wasn’t quite raining outside- but it wasn’t snowing either, so the pavements were slick and the city was cold. Nobody was out.

It was times like this that Alexander craved companionship, but Eliza was at home in New York City and he was, at present, staying in a small, one bedroom home to be close to work. He had nothing to do- no letters to write, nothing to work on. He hadn’t slept in a week, but he wasn’t tired- not at all. His mind was racing, thoughts ricocheting throughout his skull like musket fire. Loud like musket fire as well. A consistent _knock knock knock_ rushing through his brain, as if his heart was behind his eyes. He could feel it reverberating throughout him.

There was a sudden syncopation in the constant lull of unintelligible thoughts and could-be ideas hitting his tired head- a knock at the door. He prayed it was Eliza, or at least a colleague looking for a drink and some conversation. Anything to distract from the fact that his whole body ached and sleep was unattainable. He stood and moved towards the door, the rapping on the door becoming frantic. He finally opened it and his whole world went silent.

Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette stood soaking wet and swaying in the dim light. He looked pathetic, and after a moment of stunned silence Alexander ushered him in, the steady knocks in his mind becoming rapid gunfire, the synesthetics of his thoughts making him close his eyes tight for a moment so he could think clearly and regroup. Gilbert and he had exchanged letters regularly but recently Lafayette’s had stop coming- the tumult in France was becoming quite serious and sometimes Alexander found himself hoping his dear friend was still alive.

He was pleased to know his friend was alive, but the conditions of this discovery were still hitting him fully. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, the shivering Frenchman piped up.

“Alexander, you’re a sight for sore eyes!” he said, his words entirely too loud and slurred. His accent had thickened since being in his home country but Hamilton knew him well enough to know he was drunk.

“Why are you here?” The lawyer asked, cocking his head. “I’m glad to s-“

“I was sent away! Tossed aside like the garbage!” Gilbert cried out suddenly, throwing his hands up in resignation, his sudden movement knocking him off balance. Alexander shut the door to prevent the chill from creeping in further and gently kept his friend up right.  “They exe- how do you-“

“Exiled you?” Alex asked, a frown etching itself deeply into his already tired features.

“Yes! Exiled- they cannot handle criticism of that rat bastard king!” he exclaimed, excited and drunk and devastated all at once. It broke Alexander’s heart, but he kept his mouth shut for once.

“How d-“

“But alas, I knew you’d help. Your return address changed, and you are here. Eliza is away, no?” he asked, his words still thick and almost unintelligible. He was shivering but he wore a winning grin and hair that was going every which way, almost comically. Alex’s brows pulled together in confusion at his question.

“No. No- I’m away. She’s home. Look, are you- do you need a place to stay?”

“Oui.”

Alexander sighed- The shivering, wet Frenchman before him needed the bed more than he- it would be getting more use than if he was without company for the night- he would stay up all night tossing and turning in it, it may as well be used by _someone._ Lafayette was a good 5 inches taller than he- so none of his clothes would fit him, but Alexander slipped to the back for a moment and retrieved a large quilt, of course Gilbert followed like a lost puppy, his drunken mind worrying that the wordsmith would leave him.

There was a silence where Hamilton examined his friend. Ice crystals were melting from his hair and dripping onto the hard wood, his clothes were soaking and you could hear his teeth chatter. He felt bad, immensely, but a little bit full of pride that his compatriot had decided to come to him first after such a traumatic event.

“Alexander.” The previously loud and joyful voice was now small and concerned as the man wrapped himself up in the thick blanket. It caught Alex off guard and he halted his pacing. “It was awful. I-“

“We’ll talk in the morning, Gil. You need rest. ” He said, concern filling the body of his well-spoken voice. He didn’t want his friend to fall apart now- he’d be sober in the morning and more than able to explain it then. Alexander swallowed thickly and wondered how long the man had been drunk, how long he’d been searching for his out-of-the-way home in the freezing cold sleet. _Knock, knock, knock._ Alexander swore with each thought he could feel his head move with the pressure of it.

At Hamilton’s words, Lafayette’s face fell, but he nodded in understanding. “I don’t want to put you out- where should I sleep?” He asked.

“You can have the bed. I haven’t been sleeping well.” He explained, glad that Gilbert was drunk- were he sober the tables would flip- there would be tea on the fire in zero seconds flat and he’d have to explain his poor self-care to a rather angry Frenchman.

“Ah.. I see.”

The lawyer led the way to his bedroom, making sure his unsteady friend made it into the cherry-wood bed without hurting himself. “Goodnight.” He said, about-facing and returning to his study to do some light reading and contemplate what had just happened. His friend looked cold, hungry. Maybe he should’ve offered some bread- something hot to eat. It hit Alexander that he hadn’t eaten in at least a day. The knocks were becoming more like _slams,_ like wine glasses shattering on the inside of his skull, like men fighting against his swollen brain. He felt bad now.

                He sat and opened the pamphlet he was reading and his eyes scanned uselessly over the words. After what felt like an hour of useless scanning- of reading without pulling in any measure of comprehension- he heard a voice from the back of the house.

                “Alexander!” called the voice- Lafayette from his bed- and it sounded rushed- urgent. Alexander quickly made his way to the back of the home to find his friend calmly laying in the bed. He was counting the noise in his head now- like a metronome that kept the time in pangs of pain and grief. _One, two, three, four and one, two, three, four and…_

                “Yes?”

                “I’m cold.”

                “I’m sorry- It’s brutal out there.” Alexander murmured with a frown, walking to the small wardrobe that stood tall beside his bed, reaching to pull out a thick blanket- one he used when they really got into the thick of winter. He grabbed the blanket but a clammy hand pulled the back of his shirt and soon he was on top of the Marquis sideways. He adjusted himself with a huff and tried to climb out of the bed. _Onetwothreefouronetwothreefour._ He was anchored in place by a not-as-strong-as-it-used-to-be grip and he sighed, giving in.

                “I’ve got work to do.”

                “But I’m cold.”

                Alexander Hamilton was no stranger to warming Gilbert up- he wouldn’t admit it, especially not now that he was wed- but this wasn’t entirely foreign to him. He wouldn’t admit this one to himself, not even to the percussion-only symphony in his head- but he almost missed it, he felt like this was something he needed. He silently complied, wrapping his arms around the other. The other felt like _ice_ on his own skin as he settled into the comfort of two bodies pressed into one.

                Little by little, he felt the _pounding_ decrease to _knocking_ decrease to _tapping_ and soon it felt like it was gone. He felt like he knew **_peace_** now. “You must miss it.” He sighed.

                “What?”

                “Home.” Alexander clarified. As his head slowed, as did his companion’s shivering. Pride rushed through him once more as he waited for an answer.

                “Non. I am home now.”

                The smaller man’s brows pulled together again. “But Fra-“

                “What about France? Home is where my heart is, Alexander, and it has been with you.”

                Alexander’s face flushed hot and he frowned. He bit the inside of his mouth and chose his next words carefully.

                “Goodnight, Gil.” He muttered. Thoughts raced through his increasingly sleepy mind but instead of gunfire they felt like flutters- like hope.

 

                When he awoke, he smelled coffee brewing, and heard an extremely familiar tired, hungover groan from his study. He was surprised and halfway grateful to his friend that he'd actually slept. The _bright_ sun was the first observation he made in the morning- and the next was how wonderfully familiar his sheets now smelled wrapped around him. Both things that signified, if only for a while, that things might become better.

**Author's Note:**

> seriously leave a comment even if it's mean


End file.
